


etchings in the corners of my mind

by taxicab12



Series: more to me than you can dream [11]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Established Relationship, Joe is good with kids, Just barely pre-Booker, Life must seem so temporary when you live forever, M/M, Mostly historically accurate, Pre-Canon, a tiny bit of angst, at least for the parts that matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taxicab12/pseuds/taxicab12
Summary: “Thank you,” Yusuf said, sitting down, “for all your hospitality.”“Honestly, you’re probably safer than a Frenchman right now, what with the war coming our way.”“War?” He asked.“With Napoleon,” her son, a boy of maybe fourteen, said, speaking slowly as if he were spelling the name in his head. “He’s going to conquer all of Europe.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: more to me than you can dream [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878034
Comments: 10
Kudos: 177





	etchings in the corners of my mind

Yusuf woke to an empty bed, subconsciously reaching out for a man who was not there. For a brief moment, fear found its way to his heart, but it quickly subsided as he remembered.

Nicolò was gone for a few days, though he couldn’t remember why as his tired mind struggled to catch up.

He took a deep breath before letting himself think about it again.

Nicolò had gone on a hunting trip with some men from the village. They were going to be gone two days. Yusuf had stayed behind to help some of the villagers with repairs to a broken set of fences at the edge of the village.

Yusuf rose and dressed, trying to make himself somewhat presentable for the kind woman who had allowed him in her house. Both her husband and eldest son had gone on the hunting trip, and she had allowed him to sleep in her son’s bed.

This was the Holy Roman Empire, a mixture of all kinds of people, but not many that looked like him. Europeans were often not so kind to him.

She was cooking breakfast for her children when he entered the kitchen.

“Good morning,” she said. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you,” he said, fluent in German but still surprised by how it felt in the back of his throat. “Would I be able to borrow those tools your husband mentioned?”

“Sit,” she said, “have something to eat first.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down, “for all your hospitality.”

“Honestly, you’re probably safer than a Frenchman right now, what with the war coming our way.”

“War?” He asked.

“With Napoleon,” her son, a boy of maybe fourteen, said, speaking slowly as if he were spelling the name in his head. “He’s going to conquer all of Europe.”

“Don’t talk like that.” She tapped him on the head with her wooden spoon.

“I’m afraid I’ve been away a while,” Yusuf said. “Who is Napoleon?”

She raised a brow. “Leader of France. He took over after that revolution they had.”

Yusuf had heard about the revolution and the bloodshed. He, Nicolò, and Andy had been in South India at the time, trying to help those caught up in war there. After that, they’d spent a few years in Constantinople, though Andy had left a few months in with no plans to meet up. Yusuf worried about her, but it was becoming easier and easier to find each other as time went on, a huge leap from the long years it took to find each other the first time.

He nodded, though it was so delayed she had already turned away.

“Where do you come from?” The woman’s daughter asked. She was about nine, with big eyes and a crooked smile.

“Originally, or most recently?” He returned the smile.

“Have you been lots of places?” She asked, her eyes widening even more. “What’s the best one?”

He considered, taking the question very seriously. “Jerusalem.”

“What’s it like?” The son asked, suddenly fascinated.

“Mighty,” Yusuf said. “And holy.”

“I’d like to see it some day,” he said.

“You two need to _see_ the inside of the schoolhouse,” the woman said, taking away their empty plates and handing Yusuf his full one. “Go on now.”

They grumbled but obeyed, waving to Yusuf as they left.

“Thank you again,” he said as he began eating.

“Any luck and your friend will be bringing us back plenty more food.”

Yusuf smiled at the thought. “Oh, he will. He’s a good shot, doesn’t matter if it’s a crossbow or a musket.”

“It’s good to hear. Something tells me we have a long year ahead. Probably long few years.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Part of him wanted to stay in this village, to help, but he knew it wasn’t to be. They still needed to find Andy, and even if they were to get involved in this war, it would be somewhere actually affected by it, not just waiting for the worst. It was a harsh judgment, because he knew if he didn’t decide on his own that they had to leave, Nicolò would easily give in to his desire to stay.

“Not your fault,” she said. “It seems like there’s a new war every few years these days.”

Even he had no response to that.

“I’ll get you those tools,” she said.

The work was welcome, the hot sun nothing compared to the summers they’d spent in India. Either way, he welcomed the distraction.

The woman made him dinner and her children interrogated him about his home and his travels, which he described for them, though was careful to do so in such a way as to not give away his hundreds of years of life. He wondered what it would be like to have their life, to fear death, to have never traveled or fought. He had had a sedentary childhood, but he no longer remembered it.

When he went to bed, there was a knock at his door, and the young boy let himself in.

“I thought you were in bed,” Yusuf said with a conspiratorial smile. “Your mother will not be pleased.”

“Is Napoleon going to kill us all?”

Yusuf frowned. “I know nothing of Napoleon.”

“My brother Max says we’re going to die,” he said.

“What’s your name?”

“Wilhelm,” he said.

“Wilhelm,” he repeated, committing the name and the face to memory. “There’s no need to be afraid. War may come here, I can’t promise you otherwise, but there is life, even in war. You will survive, even if hardship comes.”

“How do you know?” He looked desperate for an answer, something more solid than his parents would tell him and less frightening than his brother claimed.

“War came to my home once.“

“What happened?”

“I survived,” Yusuf said, though that was actually a lie. “As will you.”

“What’s your name?” Wilhelm asked.

“Yusuf,” he said.

The boy nodded. “Where will you go now?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, and that happened to be the truth.

He frowned at that, as if expecting a better answer. “Goodnight, Yusuf.”

“Goodnight.”

He didn’t sleep well that night, thoughts clouding his mind.

Nicolò returned the next afternoon, cheerful and unusually chatty. Yusuf could tell, without even asking, that he had enjoyed the trip.

“Why are you upset?” Nicolò asked him as they packed their things to leave. “Did something happen?”

“I’m not upset,” he said.

Nicolò raised a brow.

“I’m just... being around children makes me sad sometimes.”

“You love children.” He took his hand. “Why do they make you sad?”

“Because we will outlive them, Nicolò. Because their entire lives will be in the blink of an eye for us. They are supposed to be the next generation, but we outlive every generation.”

“You heard about the war, then?”

“There’s always another one. Why do we even bother, Nicolò?”

“We can’t give up, Yusuf. We were given this gift for a reason, we have to keep fighting for what is right. That’s our purpose. I’d rather fight a war every day than sit and do nothing and think about what I could have done.”

“You’re right, of course. We should go.”

“Off to war again?” Nicolò smiled.

They never returned to the village, never returned to most places they went, but Yusuf didn’t forget those children, any of the children he met. It was strange to think of Wilhelm as a grown man with only vague memories of a kind stranger. It was upsetting to think of all the wars the children he met fought when they grew. 

Yusuf had wanted to be a father once, but that was not to be. But he had those children, etched on the corners of his mind, visible when he closed his eyes. Children long grown and long dead.

A year after they left that village, the Holy Roman Empire fell, all of Europe quaking in its wake. Yusuf thought of that boy, so afraid and so curious, thought of the girl with big eyes, of the woman who housed and fed a stranger.

That was his purpose. That was what he fought for. There was goodness in the world and he would fight for it.

**Author's Note:**

> So I spent way too much time doing research for this bc I wasn’t sure how well the years on some of these things lined up. Why do I always do this to myself when I should be sleeping?
> 
> Update as of 9/17/20: if you’re interested in what Andy’s up to during this separation, you can read #22 in this series “l’ange de l’assassinat“


End file.
